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Thursday, July 31, 2014

The rain had made the roads slick and he berated his choice
of transport on this hot damp day. His classic 1962 BSA Scrambler held the
road, the two wheels gripping the road at every turn. However his black leather
jacket along with his blue jeans were hardly
appropriate for the sudden drenching he was getting.

Tyler rounded the corner, which took him to his bed and
breakfast, when the back end of an old red Mustang appeared before him. The
next thing he knew he was lying on the wet ground the
engine of his bike revving out of control as it hydroplaned across the road
before it came to a stop at the other side of the road. He lay there for a
second thanking God he was still alive as he pulled off his helmet brushing his
fingers through his hair.

He stood. A little shaky, but able to walk he immediately
moved toward the car. His fire-fighting/paramedic training took over as he
limped over to the old car. He didn’t know what he expected, but the sight of a
woman with her hands covering her face made his heart
beat jump a few fast beats.

Shit, what had he done? The
car was just stopped on the side of the road, but he should have seen it.

As he reached the driver’s side of the car he leaned down
to knock on the window, his heart lurched at the
sight before him. A woman sat behind the wheel her head resting on the steering
wheel. A sweep of long blonde hair fell like a veil obscuring his view of her
face.

“Ma’am?” He knocked on the window, yet she didn’t move, his
heart rate tripled as he gently opened the door
leaning down into the car to touch her shoulder.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” He felt her muscles tense under his
touch, so he knew at least she was breathing.

Slowly she raised her head looking at him, shakily the
ground shifted beneath him. She was beautiful, her
small round face was as white as a sheet of paper, still it was her eyes
trapping his gaze. Turquoise…deep turquoise framed with the longest darkest
eyelashes he had ever seen. Stunning! She unclipped her seatbelt, swinging her
jean-clad legs—long legs—out. He stepped back
offering his hand which she promptly ignored.

She was evidently upset, her eyes were wide as she pushed
back her long straight bangs with shaking fingers as she walked to the back of
her car. She bent down to trail her fingers along the
chrome bumper where there was a decidedly large dent. Her well-worn jeans fit
her ass like a glove, not too skinny but peachy, two globes which would
definitely fill his palms and more.

Jesus. Shaking himself from his obvious craziness after falling off his bike, he
held out his hand to touch her again. “I’m so sorry, are you—”

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Sally
Eldridge was confident, savvy and competitive, excelling in the male-dominated
field of Grand Prix sport bike racing until a life-shattering accident severely
damaged her body and psyche. Twenty-seven years of marriage to Richard McCoy
served as a buffer from life’s uncertainty. Over time, she surrendered
self-reliance to Richard’s control.

Life
changes abruptly when Richard dies while on a business trip. Overwhelmed by the
devastating loss, Sally is forced to relearn skills she relinquished during
marriage to a willful man. She initially accepts Richard’s death until shocking
details emerge that upend thirty years. She uncovers his covert life of sexual
affairs, illegitimate children, and hidden assets in an obscure corporation.
Her investigation exposes her to one man desperate enough to kill her, and another
who has been in love with Sally for a decade.

To take
control of her future, Sally must expose every truth, even if it means risking
her life in the process.

Excerpt 1

“Mrs. McCoy, if
you’re hell-bent on selling then why not sell only forty-nine percent of the
winery to your employees and retain control of fifty-one percent?”

She was relieved Vic Callahan hadn’t asked to sleep with
her, though she was disappointed that he wouldn’t be servicing her physical
needs. What a perfect arrangement it would be, a virile man at her disposal and
too past his prime to demand carnal access to her morning, noon, and night,
like a sex-crazed college student. Not that she’d mind, but—

“Mrs. McCoy, are you all right?” Vic asked, because her eyes
had a faraway quality, and her cheeks were flushed.

“Yes. I’m fine,” she said, annoyed with her sexual
single-mindedness. She imagined the expression of idiocy on her face. She couldn’t
support her cause as a widow with wherewithal by behaving as though she had
brain damage, when all she needed was a vigorous roll in the hay.

“Thank you, Mrs. McCoy. Seems to me companies do better when
they’re employee owned. And this way, you’d still get to keep major control of
the winery.”

“It’s a very intelligent idea,” she agreed. She pushed away
from the table, and stood, feeling the heat disperse from her inner thighs. She
hoped he wouldn’t pick up on her horniness from his side of the room.

Vic got up quickly, and placed his hat on his head.

“Thank you, ma’am. Now, if I were you, thinking about
selling a share of my winery, I’d pay for a smart attorney to keep in my
pocket, one that’s versed in corporate law, to make sure I don’t get screwed.”

Screwed. She burned at that word intoned in Vic’s voice, and
involuntarily licked her lips.

He smiled again, and she clenched her teeth to keep from
reacting on a physical level. The man spoke with care in low tones and she
supposed his face would eventually look like soft leather from years of
exposure to the sun and wind. But at this age, he was attractive, his eyes
sharp, and mannerisms infinitely seductive. That physically conditioned body of
his was…well, beautiful came to mind, though she figured a man would be
less inclined to consider this description of his own physique acceptable.

She decided he was sexy then, a must-ride. She could
feel herself getting wet at the mere thought of straddling Vic Callahan
buckaroo, draped across his willing hips, and feeling the smooth stroking of a
stiff cock that surely must match his lithe, ageless build. Maybe he would grip
her waist with those strong hands, encircling her naked buttocks, and draw her
in.

She let her eyes rove, taking in his broad shoulders and
wide chest, curving into muscled loins and a round posterior, a body a woman
could enjoy in an erotic sense, even if the man who owned it seemed impervious
to love. They were matched closely in height. The thought of kissing a man as
enticing as Vic with a mere tilt of the chin made her heart pound. She wondered
how his whiskers would feel brushing across her nipples and imagined pulling him
in by his narrow hips, wrapping her legs around him while he thrust into her,
uttering primal groans of pleasure in her ear.

When
not writing, Karen Kennedy Samoranos co-manages a music education business in
the Bay Area with her husband, Clifford, focusing on jazz theory and live stage
performance for children ages 5 through 18. She has four adult children, and
four young grandchildren. In her off hours, she hikes, and is an avid
fisherman, and motorcyclist (both dirt and street), and an advocate for regular
exercise, red wine and whole foods.